“My name is Stokie Jaye and I work in a group home for severely emotionally disturbed boys...”
Those are the words that began my first website describing what it is like to enter the world of group home living, mental instability, horror, shock, sick humor, stress and strained emotions. I described a unique language, living conditions and rules. I described our beloved “Dysfunction Junction.”
After that first website appeared, I have heard from many different kinds of people, literally from all over the world, who wrote in for many various reasons. Some wrote to thank me for shedding light on a difficult and overlooked segment of our society. Some wrote in disbelief, accusing me of making everything up. Some wanted to know how they could get a job like mine. Some were former group home residents themselves who wanted to tell me their own stories. Others were current and former group home counselors who told me that I was telling all too familiar stories of craziness and seat-of-the-pants child-rearing.
I really enjoy hearing from my readers, and I try my best to write all of them back. And although so many of them have such different backgrounds, there seems to be one common denominator to all of the messages I receive: “We want more!” So,
“My name is Stokie Jaye and I work in a group home for severely emotionally disturbed boys...”
To those of you who are new readers, you should start here. These are the introductory stories about how I first got the job and my first few days working in the group home.
For those of you who are return readers, thank you so much for being patient and sticking with me for so long! You will find new stories and many of your old favorites. I will be updating regularly. Welcome back!
Now, let’s get on with it, shall we?
Introduction to Stokie Jaye’s Slow Children At Play
My name is Stokie Jaye and I work in a group home for severely emotionally disturbed boys. As I drive into work every day, I pass an old, battered road sign that was erected long ago when the facility was built. To me, it means nothing about traffic, but only signifies what I have come to know as the God-awful truth about the boys I work with: It says:
I am responsible for the health and well-being of ten boys who have had the misfortune of being born into the families of crack-whores, carnies, sexual predators, white trash and gang-bangers. There are five units (cottages, houses) on campus and I work in the sub-acute (level 12) unit which means that the residents in my care are just one step away from being hospitalized in a psychiatric ward. This is not a half-way house, it is more like a three-quarters of the way house.
The boys have been removed from their families, with or without the families’ consent and have come to live with us to not only escape an abusive environment, but to unlearn the patterns of behavior that got them here. These boys are the All-Stars of bizarre behavior. They are the Hall of Famers of their grotesque art and living with us is usually their last, best chance at making it in the world.
That said, I should say that the last thing these guys want to do is change. They do not trust the staff who are there to try and help them. They have been born into abuse, violence, sex and mistrust; this has been their “normal” life. As staff, we try to identify and stop the cycles of dysfunctional behavior. And the boys resist us like the plague. This conflict leads to situations that are at once shocking, sad, and sometimes very funny.
I’m trying to illuminate a very dark world that is rarely seen or talked about. Working here, we experience the full range of human emotion; anger, disgust, horror. But we sometimes see some glimmers of beauty, hope and the resilience of the human spirit in those rare instances when a child tries to overcome his past and repair his life with our help.
---
I have been a counselor for over a decade in an occupation with incredibly high rates of staff turnover. Yes, I do sometimes wonder if something is wrong with me, having stayed here for so long and having put up with so much anguish and stress. I have been here so long that I’ve begun to see some disturbing parallels between our charges and the “normal” people who take care of them. I really believe that if I couldn’t find a way to laugh at all of this, I would break down and cry.
---
The typical group home counselor is a college student or a fresh college graduate. Because most of us had never heard of group homes, we also come in with high expectations and ideals. Some think, like I did, that it would be like working at a summer camp.
For these staff, it is a quick learning experience in discovering how quickly those ideals can be sullied, how much lower those expectations can become after working here for just a couple of months. I have seen many staff members quit after just one day, or even after just a couple of hours.
---
The organization I work for is a religiously-affiliated non-profit which means that the people in charge are very well-meaning idealists, with little knowledge of how to run an actual business. We rely on grants, donations and tax-payer dollars from the state and county.
With all of these factors in play, program consistency is a problem. Everybody thinks that their slice of the pie is the most important. There are communication breakdowns, egos to be stroked, grudges kept, in-fighting, secret liasons, and heavy drinking amongst all involved: counselors, house supervisors, therapists, administrators and even donors.
---
These stories are completely true, and I therefore have not used the real names of any people or places.
These are the real adventures and revelations of a group home counselor.
